


(If I Had a Penny For) Every Time You Sigh

by Ad_Absurdum



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Smiths
Genre: Humor, M/M, Pic-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/pseuds/Ad_Absurdum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All that secret pining was starting to get on Andy's nerves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(If I Had a Penny For) Every Time You Sigh

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Never happened, all slander and lies.  
>  **A/N:** Holy Hand Grenade, I think this is my first Moz/Marr fic (and it still inexplicably revolves around Andy. I am hopeless). Written as a 'thank you' gift for a friend because she was awesome and found the one and only Adult Net's live bootleg for me.  
>  Pic-fic because the main inspiration was the picture below.

"Oh look at it. Just look at it."

"What?" Andy replied distracted, trying to look with one eye at Johnny behind him while keeping the other on his bass. They were nearing this tricky part and he'd rather get it right.

...1 and 2 and 3, 4, 5, there we go. Nice.

Even though he wrote it himself, he still hated this stupidly complicated bridge.

"Just look at him." Johnny's hiss was more like a moan this time.

Andy followed the direction of Johnny's gaze and saw Morrissey doing his stage routine. Namely... well... dancing, Andy supposed. Sort of awkward and not caring a bit. Truth be told, it was rather endearing, Andy thought.

"Fucking beautiful."

"What?" Andy whipped his head around.

"Whirling there like a dervish. All half-shadows and mysteries."

"He needs a skirt, though. And that funny hat," Andy said decisively.

"What?" The confusion was clear in Johnny's voice. As was the disapproving frown in the pause that followed.

"I saw it on the telly, I swear." Andy made as sincere a face as he could. "The other day there was this documentary and they were showing these dervishes. In skirts and funny hats." Andy hoped Johnny didn't hear his voice quiver with barely suppressed laughter.

"Riiight." He heard behind him. "Are you saying they're all actually transvestites?"

"Dunno. Am I?" Andy turned and sent Johnny a toothy grin.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Arse."

The next three minutes passed without further comments, but then Morrissey opened his shirt, baring his chest to the extatic crowd.

Andy heard a whimper behind him and turned to check what was the problem. He found Johnny biting his lip and staring rather hungrily, Andy realised worriedly, at Morrissey.

"You okay, mate?" Andy asked just in case.

"Oh yeah." Johnny licked his lips, his eyes fixed on the singer. "Oh yeah. Fucking niiiice."

"Erm..."

Andy had an overwhelming urge to back away. He battled it down. True, Johnny _was_ acting strange, but it probably wasn't contagious.

"Fucking look at that. Just fucking look." Johnny's voice took on a decidedly breathy quality.

"At what?" Andy was honestly confused. From the direction of Johnny's increasingly hungry gaze, it looked like he meant Morrissey, but Andy, for the life of him, could not see what would be so interesting about the singer's pale scrawny figure. He cast a glance around the stage just in case, but there really was nothing that could prompt such a reaction from Johnny. Angie was nowhere in sight.

"Mozzer, you dolt," Johnny huffed impatiently. "Fucking gorgeous or what?"

At that Andy nearly dropped his pick.

"What!?" he asked in a slightly hysterical voice for what felt like twentieth time tonight.

"Gorgeous, that's what he is," Johnny continued undeterred. "Have you ever looked into his eyes? He's absolutely lethal with those baby blues. Or that mouth of his. Red and full and wet and just begging for a kiss."

Andy started to subtly edge away.

"Or that body, slender yet strong. And his nipples are so pink you just want to bite them."

Andy shuddered at the thought. And not in a good way.

"You're scarring me here, mate."

"Huh?" Johnny looked over to his friend, finally noting his rather green complexion and a wan nervous smile.

"Oh." He blinked.

Then he realised the unhealthy green glow on Andy's face was caused by the stage lights. He sighed, a self-deprecating smile forming on his lips.

"Sorry, mate. Got a bit carried away, didn't I?"

"I'd say." Andy managed to calm down.

Then he squinted at Johnny suspiciously. "Wait, you're pulling my leg, aren't ya?"

Johnny cast a forlorn glance at Morrissey again.

"Yeah. Sure, Andy."

Somehow Andy didn't believe that.

* * *

A few days later, after yet another gig on this tour, Andy sat in an overstuffed armchair incongruously placed backstage (with a matching old-fashioned sofa and chairs to boot. Australians seemed to have the strangest ideas about backstage decor) and contemplated his new socks.

They were nice socks.

He got them the previous night when the band were leavig Brisbane and some crazed fan ran to him and gave him a package neatly wrapped in brown paper. Well, okay, the fan wasn't exactly 'crazed'. She was past sixty and reminded Andy of his own grandma. She even patted his cheek the same way while saying she had a grandson almost Andy's age who made her a Smiths fan as well. And since he couldn't be here himself tonight and since he apparently liked Andy best, she knitted a little present for her grandson's favourite bassist.

Andy's face turned a rather fetching shade of tomato red. He thanked as politely as his Mum had ever taught him, for which he got a pat on his head and a 'Such a well-mannered young man' said with a warm smile.

Andy got a bit redder at that, mumbled his thanks again and rushed to the bus from the windows of which, four curious faces of the other Smiths and their driver peered at him.

The little present turned out to be a pair of knitted gloves, socks and a scarf - all soft and warm and smelling faintly of cinnamon and cloves.

"Someone's granny's favourite," Mike sing-songed in Andy's ear as he leant over from the seat behind to look at what Andy got.

"Piss off, you're just jealous." Andy grinned, never taking his eyes off his gift.

"You gonna let me borrow the scarf sometimes?" Johnny flopped on the seat beside him.

"No." Andy frowned, thinking of his jacket which he once lent to Johnny only to never see it again.

He subtly moved his gift from Johnny's immediate grabbing distance.

"Aw, you're breaking my heart here." Johnny pouted. "Mozzer would let me borrow his clothes, right?" Johnny looked with an impish smile at their singer.

Andy raised an eyebrow.

Morrissey returned Johnny's smile.

"Anything you'd want," he said and there was something in the tone of his voice that made Andy sqiunt just a little suspiciously at him.

"See?" Johnny laughed, his gaze locked with Morrissey's for a moment longer.

Andy hummed noncommittaly and frowned again. Something strange was happening here.

And now as he sat backstage and contemplated his new socks, he was becoming more and more certain of that. Moreover, he was about to have it confirmed.

Moz wandered in, a little tipsy on the wine he had drunk after the gig, and sat in another overstuffed armchair. He gave Andy a cursory glance and looked around with vague interest.

"Where's Johnny?"

Andy shrugged. "I dunno."

The disappointment evident on Morrissey's face stung a little, although Andy had had enough time to get used to it. With Morrissey it was always Johnny, as if Andy - or Mike for that matter - wasn't good enough to talk to. Frankly, Andy had always felt Mozzer thought he was just stupid.

He pursed his lips, watching as Morrissey sighed and leant back in his armchair, blinking up at the ceiling.

"I saw Angie take him somewhere after we finished. I guess they've already left," Andy added.

"Angie. Of course." Morrissey's voice held an odd note. "The wonderful beautiful Angie." His mouth twisted in a wry smile.

Andy frowned, he'd never heard Mozzer talking like that.

"Tell me, Andrew," Morrissey finally looked at him and Andy sighed, averting his eyes. Another sign that Morrissey was well on the way to being drunk - he started calling him 'Andrew'.

"How long does Johnny know Angie?" Morrissey meanwhile continued.

"I don't know." Andy tried to remember. "Since he was fifteen, sixteen, I guess."

There was a sigh from Morrissey and then a murmur, "So young, so reckless. So typical," he added after a pause. Fondly, it seemed to Andy.

"What?" Andy was rather nonplussed. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Morrissey shrugged. "Only it seems Johnny's always been awfully popular with the ladies, hasn't he?"

This really wasn't phrased like a question. Morrissey stared at Andy with an accusing eye, evidently waiting for an answer.

"Uh..." Andy had no idea what to say. Not an unusual occurrence when talking to Morrissey. "I guess so."

Morrissey nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer and looked at the ceiling again. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke, "Probably 'cos he's really pretty."

"What?" That was not what Andy expected. Then he thought he'd misheard. "Who's pretty?"

Morrissey looked at him with more than a hint of exasperation.

"Andrew," And that tone was condescending beyond measure. "I know you're smarter than an average goldfish. Not by much, mind you, but smarter."

Andy gritted his teeth. Of all the bloody--

"Johnny, of course," Morrissey huffed impatiently. "Don't you think he's pretty?"

The inquisitive, if slightly bleary, gaze was fixed on Andy.

"Er..." Andy blinked, looking - ha was sure of it - like a particularly dim-witted goldfish. But what the fuck was he supposed to say to such a question?

Fortunately Morrissey's complete lack of faith in his mental abilities and skills as a conversational partner saved Andy from having to answer.

"I think he's pretty." Morrissey returned his gaze to the ceiling.

And that was as much as Andy could comfortably take. Actually, he passed 'comfortable' stage somewhere near the beginning of this conversation, so now he slowly stood up and edged his way to the door. It was made infinitely easier by the fact that Morrissey had closed his eyes. Andy thought Mozzer might have dozed off, but the singer's next words nearly made Andy stop dead in his tracks.

"Pity he's with Angie," Morrissey mumbled. "I'd be better for him."

Well, fuck, Andy sighed tiredly. What was he supposed to do now? If he didn't know what Johnny thought of Morrissey's eyes, lips and nipples - in detail - Andy would do exactly nothing, except maybe try to forget this conversation as quickly as possible.

Now though...

Now he would also do nothing because Johnny had Angie, for fuck's sake, and Andy wasn't about to start breaking them apart.

That resolution lasted about a week, during which Morrissey avoided Andy, making it look like he didn't, and Andy was absolutely fine with pretending their last conversation didn't happpen.

The band were heading down South to play a gig in Sydney and while they were packing into the bus, Angie was conspicuously absent.

"Angie not coming with us?" Andy finally decided to ask.

"No," Johnny answered, picking up his guitar case. "She took a plane back to London. We've decided to take a break."

"From what?"

"From each other." Johnny didn't sound particularly troubled.

"Oh." Andy blinked. "That's... unexpected."

"Not really. It's been brewing for some time now."

Johnny chose a seat in front of Andy and glanced at Morrissey, who took one on the opposite side of the aisle.

"Yeah? You sure you're okay?" Andy asked, glancing Mozzer's way as well. The singer seemed almost happy, a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he looked through the bus window.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, mate," Johnny answered a bit distractedly, his gaze staying with Morrissey a little longer before he took out some sheet music and buried his nose in it.

Andy scratched his forehead.

Well.

Well, well, well.

And what now?

That question was soon answered. That very same evening, in fact. If Andy had been more patient or in any way predisposed to listening to Johnny's paeans praising Morrissey's virtues, physical and otherwise, he would have let the matter lie and rest and wait until Johnny or Moz finally caught the clue bus themselves.

However, as Johnny stood behind Andy again and muttered how he would like to lick the drops of sweat rolling down Morrissey's neck, Andy had enough. To tell the truth, he still wasn't completely sure Johnny wasn't just pulling his leg and trying to shock him (Andy _was_ sure if it were the case, it would be a particularly nasty brand of revenge on Johnny's part for what Andy said when Johnny had announced back at the beginning that The Smiths were going to be a gay band[1]. And that was "Fuck off, I'm not letting anyone near my arse" which did turn out to be a bit of an overreaction). But Andy did think it would be taking things just a little too far and therefore was inclined to admit Johnny was indeed by some miracle attracted to Morrissey.

As odd as it seemed.

You just never knew when your poofter gene was going to get activated, Andy thought philosophically (and a little worriedly).

Anyway, since the question _if_ he was going to do anything about this apparently mutual Johnny-Moz attraction was pretty much settled, there only remained the question of how he was going to go about it.

Andy supposed he could always just telly Johnny Moz was pining for him something awful, but he doubted that would do the trick. Unfortunately Johnny knew him well enough to expect terrible jokes and occasional bout of good-natured trouble-stirring. Not that this was the case now, but well... There was a chance Johnny would simply not believe him.

"Careful, you're gonna strain something, thinking so hard."

"Ha ha. Piss off." Andy glared half-heartedly at Mike who sat on a barstool beside him.

Mike grinned, unaffected by the glare, and lit a cigarette.

"So," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "What's got you looking like you're plotting world domination, eh?"

"Nothing," Andy said quickly. Too quickly.

Mike shot him a sceptical and slightly wounded look.

"Whatever, mate." He shrugged. "Just thought you might want to talk. Sorry for asking."

Andy instantly felt a bit guilty. He hesitated.

"I was thinking about... relationships," he finally said.

Well, it _was_ true.

"Yeah?" Mike grinned again. "You've got some new bird, then?"

"Erm..." Andy wasn't exactly sure what to say to get out of this one safely, but fortunately Mike wasn't waiting for an answer.

"Tomorrow's Valentine's Day. Buy her chocolates and a bunch of flowers and she's gonna be yours, mark my words." Mike took a gulp of Andy's drink.

Andy stared at Mike.

Valentine's Day. Why didn't he think of that?

"What?" Mike lowered the glass and tried to surreptitiously push it away from himself, pretending he never even touched it. "Tina loves flowers and chocolates and how different can other girls be?" he added defensively.

"Huh?" Andy came back to Earth, his vision of a perfect solution to his problems gleaming like a fucking star in his mind.

"Are you even listening to me?" Mike peered at Andy closely. "You're not on some weird shit, are you? You're not mixing it with the alcohol?"

"What? Of course not." For a second Andy was mildly offended. Then he forgot.

"Mike," he said instead, rising from the barstool with a smile so wide his cheeks started to hurt. "Thanks, mate, really. Gotta go."

He slapped his friend on the shoulder and was gone in a blink.

In the end it was a simple matter of leaving notes for Johnny and Morrissey. Well, relatively simple. Andy had to put some effort into forging Johnny's handwriting and Morrissey's scrawl (the latter a lot easier than the former), so that it looked like they left the notes for each other.

Oh, and he also had to secure a table for two, with champagne, strawberries and all the rest of that romantic shit. In the garden of their hotel, no less, which fortunately was a little better than the ones they usually stayed in. It had a restaurant with terrace and yes, the garden.

As the hour of Johnny and Morrissey's arranged meeting drew nearer, Andy sneaked out of his room and stationed himself in a bush growing conveniently close - but not too close - to the table Andy chose for his bandmates. Soon-to-be-lovers he hoped because all that secret pining was getting on his nerves and he had to see this to the hopefully joyous - for all parties involved - end. Call him a closeted romantic.

Andy sat on the grass, hidden from view by the thick foliage of lush Australian flora. He spared a brief thought that there was something seriously unhealthy about all those vibrant colours in the middle of February, but then he just shrugged, settled more comfortably and waited. He glanced at his watch, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and then thought better of it (has anyone ever seen a smoking bush? He didn't think so).

Precisely seven minutes before the zero hour, he spotted Mike wandering down the path towards his shrub. Well, towards Moz and Johnny's table more likely, but the result would be the same and Andy sure as fuck wasn't going to let the pair be interrupted.

"Mike!" he hissed from behind his barrier of leaves when the drummer was just a few steps away from Andy's hiding place.

Mike stopped with his hand halfway up to his mouth and his unlit cigarette. He looked around, shook his head, but had no chance to do anything else as an arm shot from the nearest bush and dragged him into its green leafy depths.

Mike's yelp was muffled by a hand across his mouth.

"Shut up, it's only me." Andy looked at Mike crossly as he sat him down on the ground.

"Andy? What the fuck are you doing here?" Mike panted from his sudden adrenaline spike. "Jesus, I nearly had a coronary, you idiot."

"Just shut up or you're gonna spoil everything." Andy looked anxiously at his watch and then at the garden beyond. Johnny and Moz should be here any minute now.

"What are you talking about?"

Shit, Morrissey had just appeared on the horizon and was coming near them.

"Shhh, I'll tell you later, just don't say a fucking word now, okay?"

Andy retreated further into the shrubbery, pulling Mike with him.

Morrissey walked past their hiding place without so much as a glance in that direction and continued till he reached the table with a neat 'reserved' card on it.

Andy congratulated himself silently, yet again, on choosing his hiding bush - everyone heading for that particular table would have to walk beside it and yet it was far enough from the table that he wouldn't really hear much of what was going to be said. And he was really glad for it. He didn't much care for eavesdropping on this particular conversation. Considering Johnny was constantly telling him just how sexy and gorgeous Morrissey was, Andy _really_ didn't want to hear what Johnny might say now.

Speaking of the devil...

Hawk-like, Andy's eyes followed Johnny until he joined Morrissey at 'their' table. They both looked unsure, Johnny said something, Morrissey answered, Johnny shook his head, Andy bit his lip nervously. This suspense was going to kill him.

There was some further talking, Johnny started gesticulating and Andy was starting to worry. Did he miscalculate? misunderstood the whole situation?

Then finally, thankfully, he saw a smile on Morrissey's face. A grin, really. Johnny was smiling too and then he was bringing his hand to Morrissey's cheek, Moz leaning down a bit and then they finally kissed.

Andy heaved a relieved sigh, then got slightly uncomfortable as the kiss progressed from shy and tender to something more heated. A lot more heated.

"What he fuck?" Mike whispered beside him. "What the--"

Andy shook his head, glaring a warning and pressing a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. Not a moment too soon, as it turned out. Moz and Johnny were hurrying past them, back towards the hotel. It didn't take a genius to figure out what for.

Andy sighed again, relaxing at last.

"What the hell was that?" Mike was still in shock.

Andy grinned. "Apparently I've just played a Cupid to the happy couple."

Mike stared at him as if Andy lost his mind. Andy was in too good a mood to care.

"Come on." He clapped Mike on the back. "Let's get the fuck out of here and celebrate."

He stepped out on the path, brushed the leaves and grass from his jeans and glanced towards Moz and Johnny's table.

Well, what do you know? Strawberries and the bottle of champagne were still there. The 'newlyweds' were in an obvious hurry to get to their room, Andy sniggered.

It would be a criminal waste, though, to leave it all here untouched.

"Mikey," still grinning, Andy picked up the bottle and gave Mike the bowl of strawberries. "Let's head up to the bar and find ourselves some company, shall we? It's Valentine's Day after all."

**Author's Note:**

> [1] - see page 212 of Tony Fletcher's _A Light That Never Goes Out. The Enduring Saga of The Smiths_ (UK edition). Of course I'm messing with the timeline here as at that point Andy wasn't in the band yet.


End file.
